On writing

I came to a realization the other night about writing, an epiphany which probably seems obvious to writers who've been in the game for a while. Lately, I've been searching for places to submit some of my short, prose fiction. I was about to take down a list of publications when it struck me: What will getting a short story published do for me? What do I hope to parlay out of that experience? Truly, I don't mean to bash short stories, short story publications, or short story writers - "Stories" by John Cheever is one of my favorite books. Forgetting the fact that the competition in the short fiction market is supremely daunting, publication in a small press does not typically equal further accolades, a book deal, or even a relationship with a publisher. So unless I singularly desire to write short stories for a living or see myself as the next Tobias Wolff, it's ridiculous to focus on this form of writing. I would (and hopefully will) be better served focusing on my interest in young adult fiction, screenwriting, satire, comics, and non-fiction prose.

All of this lead me back to an age-old pondering of what it means to be a writer. I used to place a lot of stipulations on this label - before calling myself a "writer," I had to earn some money doing it or, at the very least, see some of my work published. Now, I look at writing similarly to the way I view running, one of my other pastimes. Entering a marathon or half-marathon or 10K - or somehow, miraculously, winning any of these races - is not the sole defining characteristic of being a runner. That reeks of elitism. A runner is a runner because of the simple, arduous task of hitting the pavement, counting the miles, weathering the aches, and doing it again the next day. It's a little hokey, I know, but I've discovered a positive outlook is essential in both running and writing.

Where The Wild Things Are

Rarely have I found myself so excited over an upcoming movie, let alone one adapted from a picture book I loved when I was young, but after seeing the just-released trailer for "Where the Wild Things Are" and discovering that it was directed by Spike Jonze and co-written by Dave Eggers, I'm almost totally won over.

I'm not sure why - maybe it's recent stress - but the trailer kinda makes me wanna bawl ---


And here's the splendid movie poster ---

For the time being...

Hello readers. I realize I gave forewarning about this about two weeks ago, but for the time being P.O.A.B. will be put on hold while I'm waiting to hear back from grad programs. I sincerely hope to continue this little project, even while I'm in the midst of some other ventures (e.g. "The Modest Knight", "The Pith Report", etc.). I'll still try to post as often as I can, but I can't promise any regularity.

Thank you for reading.

I love you all.

New website

Hey all. With the help of a good friend - one who actually knows what he's doing - I am in the process of moving my satire blog from Blogspot to its own site. This way, I'm hoping to gain more net traffic (and maybe parlay it into some sort of part-time job). For those interested in seeing the new setup, it's http://www.pithreport.com/. Eventually, I'd also like to move the P.O.A.B. blog to a more personalized site but until further notice I'll be here (when I find the time).

Sometimes I wish I were a hot dog...

(photo by D. Shrigley)

...or a balloon...

(photo by D. Shrigley)

...because then I could stay in bed all day.